Hearts at Home by Lori Copeland

the fireplace in the bakery’s living quarters all by herself.
    Bea dragged the tines of her fork through the rich frosting on the cake. “I’m a third wheel now.”
    â€œOh, Bea.” Edith leaned over to pat her hand. “You and Birdie will still be close. She’ll be coming to the bakery every day to run the business, won’t she?”
    â€œAnd I’ll be out making the mail run.” Bea’s eyes clouded. “Or selling stamps. Or answering angel mail. Birdie and I always had our special time together at night, after work.”
    Edith finished Bea’s thought. “But after the wedding, she’ll be up at the lighthouse with Salt and the kids.”
    Bea nodded, her chin quivering. Edith remained silent for a moment, giving the woman a chance to rein in her flighty emotions.
    â€œI’ll get used to it, I suppose,” Bea finally said, lowering her gaze to her plate. “A body can get used to anything, if they try hard enough. Changes are coming, I know, and I’ll just have to brace for them. Olympia’s gone, Annie will probably sell the house, and Birdie’s moving up to the cove. Who knows?” She let out a hollow laugh. “Maybe some nice looking rich fellow will buy Frenchman’s Folly and fall for me. I could find myself serving tea in Olympia’s parlor.”
    Edith made a face at that comment, but Bea didn’t see it. Just as well—Bea was only blowing off steam.
    Smiling, she tried to steer the conversation into another channel. “Do you really think Annie will sell the house?”
    Bea sighed. “I don’t think she wants to live here— never has. Olympia always said Annie couldn’t wait to graduate and leave the island. She’s got her own life now, a new boyfriend, a good job—why would she want to come back here?”
    Edith shook her head. Tragedy had touched them all in the last few months, but Annie had been the hardest hit. Would she sell the house and wash her hands of Heavenly Daze altogether? Edith hoped not. Annie was family, and the family had lost too many members lately.
    With her arms crossed and her heart heavy, Annie stood in the doorway of her aunt’s bedroom. The white counterpane lay smooth upon the bed, with only a slight indentation to mark the place Olympia had lain for so many years. An arrangement of silk lilacs on the nightstand cast soft shadows on the worn Bible her aunt had read every evening before falling asleep. The words gave her comfort, she always said, when the worries of life threatened to keep her awake.
    Feeling like a trespasser, Annie crossed the threshold and moved to the cedar chest at the end of the bed. To prepare for his funeral address, Pastor Winslow had asked for a few clippings or something that might provide insight into Olympia’s youth. Annie knew very little about her aunt’s younger days, for the woman had been well into her forties when Annie had arrived at Frenchman’s Fairest. Edmund Junior had been a senior in college at the time, so Edmund, Olympia, and Caleb alone had faced dealing with a frightened, grieving seven-year-old. . . .
    Shoving the sad memories away, Annie lifted the lid of the chest and breathed in the scents of cedar, mothballs, and wool. A stack of sweaters lay uppermost in the trunk, but after setting them on the bed she saw a green scrapbook. Relieved, she lifted it out, then sat cross-legged on the floor and began to turn the yellowed pages.
    A firm, younger hand had written My Life on the front page with blue ink—a fountain pen, from the looks of it. Amused by the thought of Olympia as a young girl, Annie turned the page and found black and white snapshots much like those she’d seen in the photograph album Caleb had brought down Saturday night. But these weren’t photos of a baby—they were pictures of a young and pretty Olympia on the arm of a tall, handsome, and much older man—Edmund